


All's Fair in Love and War

by amclove



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, Oneshot, but theres so many exactly like it so i wont torture yall w that shit, cute boys bein boys, handjobs, if i wasnt lazy this would be a chapter fic, lowkey porn w/o plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 18:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18481792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amclove/pseuds/amclove
Summary: Sledge’s felt it for almost three nights now. His eyes’ll lift from Haldane’s old Hemingway, or from his meager supper of this shit or that, and Snafu’s gaze will already be on him.





	All's Fair in Love and War

    Sledge’s felt it for almost three nights now. His eyes’ll lift from Haldane’s old Hemingway, or from his meager supper of this shit or that, and Snafu’s gaze will already be on him.

    Their eyes meet only to break apart when Sledge tears his away, always forcefully. Once more, and Snafu will give Sledge the tiniest smirk, like there’s a game in the works that the latter has no damn idea how to play, doesn’t even know how it began in the first place.

    Each time, Sledge feels like he’s about to itch himself right out of his own skin. He’s never experienced that in his entire life, isn’t sure what his father would diagnose him with, but when the moon glows above and Snafu’s crystal laser-beam of a gaze falls on Sledge, Eugene wants to curl up and pretend the jackass doesn’t exist. That or slug one across Snafu’s smug face.

    It’s one night after many that Snafu’s not so much as glanced at Sledge. No smirks, no shadowed lids, no nothing. And isn’t that all Sledge’s been wanting, to be rid of that itch beneath his skin? But the lack of attention, what had initially been unasked for, now seems to make the discomfort worse. He’s just got to get some air. He slaps down his book and mumbles an excuse as he disappears from the tent.

    Sledge unfolds his bottoms and decides the issue is that he needs to relieve himself. He does so and then, swiping his hands uselessly over his thighs by way of a dry wash, leans his forward against the bark of a tree. Unbidden, an image of his friend floats to the surface of his clouded mind. He’s so exhausted.

    Sledge can see behind his eyelids that mouth, quirked always with some hidden joke; the daring eyes that land without warning on Sledge and stay there; the hands that have dug more gold teeth out of dead Japs’ gums than they’ve done much else but that just as easily open stubborn cans for Sledge when he has trouble.

    Almost without his meaning to, Sledge has a hand wrapped over himself. The tree bark digs into his forehead, the feeling of his own skin making his heart pick up its speed. He hasn’t time to do anything more because he hears a twig crack from behind and he hurriedly jerks back into his trousers. He spins, cursing his stupidity at not bringing a gun, but his adjusted focus sees nothing but Merriell Shelton.

    “Jesus,” he cusses. “Try’n’ ta scare me half ta death?”

    There’s that fucking smirk. “Not my intention, no,” Snafu says. “Sorry.” He doesn’t sound very sorry. Sledge shakes his head and attempts to sidestep the other man; he’s met with a chest.

    “What?” he asks, forcing impatience into his tone. He doesn’t like the way Snafu’s checking him out, especially not after what he’d almost just done with his fellow Marine’s face in mind.

    Snafu’s hand comes up to slowly fist the fabric of Sledge’s white tee. The boy’s eyes fall to his bunched shirt, then revert to Snafu’s face. They’re too close for comfort and the only sounds are that of their breathing and the distant chattering of the few conscious men at camp.

    “Snaf’, what’s up?” Sledge asks. Uncertainty laces his voice now and he hates that he sounds so shaky, sure that he’s going to give away what he’d just attempted.

    Instead of replying, Snafu walks Sledge backward the few steps it takes until his back is against the tree. Sledge’s eyes are wide as Snafu stares right back into him.

    “What’s up with _you_ , Sledgehamma’?” Snafu finally says, and Sledge can’t help but feel that there’s an uncreative euphemism in Snafu’s question.

    “Why’ve you been starin’ at me all week?” Sledge demands. More rather, he tries to sound demanding but it comes across much more timid than he would have liked for this particular moment.

    Snafu leisurely rolls his eyes away and back. “You’ve been lookin’ right back, Sledge.” Sledge can feel his cheeks heating up and he’s grateful for the darkness that can at least hide his pansy blush. “I’m not wrong, you know it.” He fixes Sledge with the smallest of smiles when he notices the pink cheeks.

    His left hand, riddled with cracked blisters, slides down Eugene’s bare arm. Without his saying so, goosebumps erupt on the flesh there. Sledge hasn’t had a gentle touch since Mobile, if kissing Darlene Benson for half a second behind her daddy’s tool-shed could count as a ‘touch’ at all. Maybe a graze. (And all he’d been able to think of during that was how jealous Sid would be. Right.)

    But this _definitely_ qualifies. As what exactly, Eugene isn’t positive. He does know that he should yank right away from the feeling, but it’s awfully hard to listen to his brain when Snafu’s got his pretty fingers still crushed to his chest. Not pretty. Just slender. Just as any other Marine here has got. For Christ’s sake, he’s a _man_. They’re both men.

    Eugene idly wonders if his body has stopped its respiratory functions.

    “Snafu,” he tries, wishing to punch himself at how breathless he sounds. He takes a gulp of air, uselessly.

    “If you don’t want this, I’ll stop right now; no harm, no foul,” is returned. Paused in wait, Snafu raises his eyebrows just a little. “Go ahead, then.”

    Eugene’s hands flex into fists as he has a weak go at thinking clearly. It’s got to be past 2300 by now and he’s so tired, but nothing in him wants to remove his back from this spot. Nothing too strong, anyway.

    Snafu grins, the smallest bit of teeth on display, and lowers his hand until it reaches the front of Sledge’s bottoms. Sledge swallows.

    “What were you doin’ ’fore I walked over here?” Snafu enquires.

    “I told you, had to take a leak,” Sledge manages to fib.

    “You sure?”

    Sledge squeezes his eyes shut and, against his better judgement, shakes his head. “I was about to…” He doesn’t know what to say. “I wanted—I thought of you.”

    That must suffice because Snafu’s impish grin widens at the same moment something in his eyes glints, and he reaches past the fold of Sledge’s trousers into his pants. Sledge pitches forward just slightly, not deliberately, into Snafu and Snafu’s free hand moves from its place on the boy’s chest to leverage itself instead on his shoulder.

    “Shit, Sledge, you never been touched before or what?” he asks, vaguely amused and an ironic echo of Sledge’s earlier thoughts.

    “Snaf—” Eugene interjects. “Could you just, please—”

    “Sure thing, cher.”

    He moves gently until he’s got a faster pace set, rocking his hips against Sledge’s. Sledge wraps his arms around Snafu’s neck and burrows his face into his shoulder to muffle the noises he knows he can’t be releasing too loudly out here. He’s breathing heavily, to top it off, body draped against Snafu’s, and he isn’t too ashamed to admit that he’s trying not to pass out. What is embarrassing, in Eugene's opinion, is just how little time he requires to finish after so long without having an opportunity.

    Snafu chuckles and removes himself from Sledge’s trousers, wiping the excess off onto his own. They’re filthy anyway.

    “Wanted ta’ do that for a while,” he says.

    Head tilted onto the bark, Sledge cracks open one eye. “What? Give me a fucking hand-job in the forest?”

    Snafu considers, then nods. “I guess so.”

    “Cuz I’m just so irresistible?” Sledge asks, somehow managing sarcasm through his worsened exhaustion.

    Snafu steps again into Eugene’s space and Eugene straightens his posture a little to meet him.

    “Sometimes,” Snafu says vaguely. Having expected one of the boy’s usual wisecracks amidst a fist-fight, this actually catches Sledge off guard.

    “I won’t say this again, but you’re… one a’ the good ones, ’Gene. The most good I’ve come to know since leaving home. Got so bad I di’n’t think there were any a’ you left.” His discerning eyes rake over Sledge’s face. He isn’t naked but, especially with the use by Snafu of his Christian name, Eugene may as well be.

    “But you caught me by surprise,” Snafu continues, attention unwavering. “And I’m not easily surprised.”

    Sledge swallows again. “I… I don’t really know what to say.”

    Snafu shrugs. “Ain’t gotta say nothin’. And this don’t have ta’ happen again if you don’t want it to.” He looks up at the stars as he makes back for the camp. “But now you know, among other things, what I’m thinkin’ of when you catch me starin’.”

    Once he can no longer see Snafu’s slim figure, Sledge sags to the forest floor and finds himself gasping for air.

    Shit. _Shit_. He’s in it now.

* * *

    The worst bit of this mess is that, now, the exchanged glances aren’t simply what they had previously been—just innocent looks. Because, now, Eugene has dirty thoughts to match them, now he can see what rests behind Snafu’s heavy-lidded gaze, and he can’t help but like it. It turns his stomach in a deliciously painful way to say so even in his own head, but he does; he can’t stop himself.

    The one thing he can control, however, are his actions, and when a couple nights have passed since the incident in the forest, Sledge is almost convinced that he’s over it, despite Snafu’s occasional, intense glance. He can survive the same as before, no problem. What helps in this state of mind is the fact that if anyone were to find out, they’d be either beaten to shit or ex-communicated by their friends. Eugene likes to think that more of that sort of thing gets ignored here, since the soldiers have bigger fish to court-martial than a boot who’s getting it from another, but that doesn’t keep him from being on-edge about it.

    And his parents, his brother. What would they say? Eugene doesn’t think any parent likes their child having a sex life, but for it to be one that is inherently sinful and against God’s will? He doesn’t want to even imagine the devastation this relationship (is it even a relationship?) would cause his already fragile mother.

    But Eugene, after those couple days, isn’t so worried. He stewed on it, and then he realised that it makes no difference. Sometimes, a man needs a release, and that isn’t shameful. It really can’t be helped. A hand is a hand, whether it be a man’s or a woman’s, and as long as it never happens again, as long as he knows inside that once this all ends he will find a wife in Mobile and have the life his family has always wanted for him, Gene knows he’s okay.

    But he sits with his Bible in his lap and he can’t keep his attention from wandering.

    ... _between kindred and kindred, wheresoever there is question concerning the law, the commandment, the ceremonies, the justifications_ …

    Snafu isn’t paying him mind. He’s got a book of his own tonight and completely absorbed in its pages. Sledge shakes his head at his lack of self-control. He’s allowed this issue to burrow within him like a parasite and all he needs is to focus on—well, literally anything else. It’ll make its way out. He returns to his reading.

    This lasts only a few minutes more. Eugene’s worrying at his lip and the silence of the tent is fraying his nerves. Why did Snafu have to do what he did and consume his thoughts?

    Gene had been wrong, pathetically, tragically wrong: He isn’t over it, not even close. He _wants_ to be, desperately wants to move past what happened and act like it never had to begin with, but all he can see is Merriell Shelton’s pale eyes glowing like sapphires lit up from the inside and all he can feel is the warmth of a body—Snafu’s familiar, lean body—rolling against his and it’s enough to make stars dance across Eugene’s vision. Maybe he’s just hungry. He rubs the bridge of his nose and tries to breathe. His lower half is too interested in the tricks of his mind. He feels disgusted at holding the Bible while having these impure thoughts, so he sets it aside.

    Without meaning to, he looks again to Snafu.

    “Whatcha need, Sledgehamma’?” the young man asks lazily, thumbing at his bottom lip as he reads. “Got a camera handy? Photos last longer.”

    “You fucking asshole,” Sledge thinks to himself. When Snafu’s eyes find his, interest piqued, Eugene realises that he’d in fact spoken the insult aloud. “I…”

    “Upset?”

    The smirk is back and Eugene feels heat beginning to pool beneath his naval. Jesus Christ. Are his nerves equivalent to a string of grass these days or what?

    “You really are somethin’ else, you know that?” he says. Though Eugene is aware that no one else is in the tent yet, he looks around before going on in a hiss, “You do what you did and now you sit there with a book, act like nothin’ even happened?”

    “Did you want me ta’ act different?” Snafu asks, eyebrows lifted.

    “I don’t know!” Sledge snaps. “Do you even give a damn that I can’t think about hardly nothin’ else?”

    “Gee, Sledge, awful flatterin’.”

    “No, it really ain’t, and that isn’t how it was meant to sound anyhow.”

    Snafu studies him for a moment. “You regret it?”

    Eugene’s immediate, guttural response is to scream YES, as if he hasn’t made it obvious by now, but then he thinks for just a second and wonders if he does actually regret their private encounter. He knows he should, and the weight on his chest of its wrongness is frustrating. But when Eugene really thinks, he has to say it felt damn good, and maybe some of the frustration stems from the idea that he’d very much do it again given the chance, despite that wrongness.

    He remembers the heat of Snafu’s palm around him, and he says, “No,” so quietly that he barely makes a sound, but he means it.

    Snafu sets his book onto the mattress and stands with nonchalance. Eugene’s pulse begins to quicken at the sight of the Marine walking across to his bed.

    “Anyone could come in,” he says, barely keeping his voice from  cracking.

    “They’re all playin’ cards, out ’til God knows what hour,” Snafu points out, always calm, always so fucking calm. He stands in front of Sledge, and he isn’t sure what to do so he stands as well, unnecessarily flattening the fabric over his thighs with unsteady hands. There are no smirks, no sarcastic remarks when Sledge dares to take a step toward Snafu. He’d been fully in charge the other night. Maybe right now, Sledge could find it in himself to do something reckless too.

    His eyes drift to Snafu’s lips and he wants to touch them, more than he’d ever wanted to touch any part of Darlene Benson. He can’t help it, so he just does it. Eugene mimics Snafu’s earlier movement, running the pad of his thumb over the dark pink skin of Snafu’s lip. Snafu watches him and looks a little unsure, which emboldens Sledge. Snafu —for all his facade of apathy and toughness—had mentioned that Sledge surprises him; he finds that concept thrilling, and he’d like to keep that up however possible.

    He moves his hand to the back of Snafu’s neck and replaces his thumb with his mouth, very gently. He thinks he should be gentle, even if some part of him wants to be as rough and fast as Snafu had been the other night, and he’s terrified too that another man will come in to catch them red-handed, but he doesn’t rush. Their noses brush, and for a wild half-second Sledge feels dizzy with Snafu’s breath so near his.

    Eugene kisses him and, though it takes a moment for Snafu to catch on, the moment is brief and he’s pressing up into Sledge within seconds.

    He grips Merriell around the waist with one arm, tightening the hold when the other boy actually makes a sound into his mouth. He’s embarrassingly hard already, but so is Snafu, and that encourages him, like they’ve done it a thousand times before, to open his lips as soon as Snafu’s tongue moves across them. They stumble backward onto Sledge’s tiny cot and Snafu leans over him, his pupils so dilated in the dim light that his eyes may have been black.

    They breathe heavily, staring at each other.

    “You don’t regret it?” Snafu asks again.

    “I don’t,” Eugene promises, dragging Snafu down to catch his mouth. “I should, right? Fuck. I _should_. But I can’t.” Snafu latches to Eugene’s neck and heat twists inside him. “You—you’ve done this before.”

    “I got around ’fore bein’ shipped out.” Snafu moves to look into Eugene’s face. “You ain’t?”

    “No. It’s strange, I know, but I just... never had occasion.” He pulls lightly at Snafu’s hair, making himself laugh and Snafu scowl, but it’s more playful than anything. He leans up to kiss Snafu again, but he pauses when fingers pull at the hem of his shirt. “Snaf’, I was serious,” he states. “Anyone could walk in here, cards or not.”

    Snafu groans. “We ain’t got nowhere else to go!”

    Eugene knows he’s right. There is no privacy here, and scratching around on twigs and rocks doesn’t sound too good. He sighs and thinks how crazy it is that he’s even concerned with this, that he’s got Merriell Shelton’s knee between his thighs and lips just above his. How did he get here, and why did he like it so much?

    “Then I don’t know what we’re gonna do,” he says eventually.

    Snafu pulls off him and gets back onto two feet. “Then we’re stuck,” he replies.

    “What now?” Sledge mumbles, missing the warmth Snafu had provided.

    “We go to sleep, my guess.”

    “Bullshit!”

    Snafu rolls his eyes. “Always with the dramatics.” He looks back at Sledge and laughs. “You should see yourself, Sledgehamma’, all pitiful like.” He makes back for Sledge’s cot. “I can help, you know.”

    “But the other guys…”

    “This hot ’n’ cold act ain’t doin’ it for me, I gotta say,” he jibes, exasperated, but goes to peak out the tent to the outside anyway .“It’s dead quiet, ’Gene, I mean it,” he says. “We got at least five minutes, and we both know you don’t take that long.”

    “Asshole,” Sledge retorts.

    “More like honest,” Snafu says, but crawls onto Sledge and wedges himself back between his legs. They kiss, long and slow, and Sledge is unsure how he went this whole time without having this, how he’s slept so close to Snafu and never considered how silky smooth his tanned skin is, how soft his hair might feel under his fingers. He arches into the contact of Snafu’s hand on his groin.

    “Are you gonna get like that ev’ry time?” Merriell asks, amused.

    “I might,” Sledge answers in a pant. “I really might. Shit. It’s pathetic; believe me, I know it.”

    “Nah,” Snafu says, trailing kisses along Sledge’s jaw, down to his neck, “it’s cute.” Eugene sighs, hands tangled in Snafu’s short hair.

    “Yeah?” he says.

    “Yeah. Real cute.” He kisses Eugene lightly on the mouth, teasing, and works his hand into his pants. “I got an idea, if you like.”

    “Huh?” Sledge manages to reply.

    Snafu grins and pulls Eugene’s pants farther down. His eyes are a little wider as he watches Snafu do this, but he’s too intrigued to ask any questions. Once his pants are off, Snafu sucks his neck again, and he worries for a second that there will be a mark that he’ll have to explain away. He figures, as a Marine, it will be easy enough, and when Merriell moves so that he’s hovering just over Sledge’s waist, he quickly forgets whatever issue he’d had with a hickey.

    “You don’t have to—” he begins, but Snafu’s smirk is already pressing kisses to Sledge’s inner thigh. His breath hitches. “Snaf’.”

    “Ain’t gotta worry, cher,” Snafu says. He winks and, without another word, takes Eugene’s cock full into his mouth. Another instance of Sledge being completely lost as to how he’s gone so long without having experienced something. He’s painfully hard and watching Snafu do what he’s doing doesn’t help matters. He swears, fingernails digging into Snafu’s shoulder while his other hand tugs uselessly at his hair.

    One more swipe of Snafu’s tongue, and Eugene finishes with a noise too loud for where they are. He wants to warn Snafu, but the latter doesn’t even hesitate to take the fluid right down his throat as it comes. He really has done this before. He pulls off Sledge’s cock with a satisfied grin and doesn’t have time to wipe his lips before he’s being yanked up to meet Eugene’s mouth.

    “Fuck,” he says against Snafu, relishing the dampness there. “I can’t believe you did that.”

    “Many talents,” Snafu replies. How he can manage to sound joking and alluring all at the same time, Sledge doesn’t think he’ll ever know.

    “I wanna…” Eugene breathes hard against Snafu’s cheek. “Can I do you? Do you want that?”

    “What kinda guy would I be to say no to you, ’Gene?” he asks, face red. Sledge just flips them over, ignoring the fact that he’s still without pants and fairly sticky, and smashes his mouth to Snafu’s, kissing down to his collarbone while his hand finds his cock. Snafu holds Sledge close as he works his hand below and his lips at his shoulder. Sledge can see the marks his fingernails left and he kisses them open-mouthed and hot. “Fuck,” Snafu gasps, “sure you ain’t done this before, cher?”

    Sledge’s body rumbles with a chuckle and he keeps up the pace. Not too long after, Merriell comes in his palm and they, along with the cot, are a mess worse than before. He can’t be bothered just yet. Snafu is still catching his breath and Sledge has fallen against his chest, head buried in the crook of his neck.

    “I’m glad you been starin’,” he says, breathless. “If you weren’t so brave to stare, I’d never’ve…” Snafu nods wordlessly. “Fuckin’ sticky all over.”

    Snafu laughs and Sledge thinks it must be the most wonderful gift to have Merriell so close that he can feel the shaking in every part of his own being.

    “One a’ the few downsides,” he says and nudges Sledge to move. “Gimme that shirt, yeah, that’s the one. Wipe us down a bit.” He cleans himself, then tosses it to Sledge to do the same. They get properly dressed in companionable silence, exchanging glances that are shy on Eugene’s end and just plain sinful on Snafu’s.

    “Gotta stop lookin’ at me like that,” Sledge says.

    “You just said how good it is—”

    “You know what I mean, Mer’. It’s torture, your eyes all… big on me. My self control only extends so far.”

    “That so?”

    “No,” Eugene says immediately. “No more tonight. They’ll be back any second, now.”

    Snafu shrugs. “Yeah, I know.” He stands and holds the collar of Eugene’s shirt as he presses their lips together. Urgency has for now been replaced with fondness, and he pulls back with a grin. “G’night.”

    Sledge sighs and wishes to God that he could sleep beside and wrapped up in Snafu instead of across the way.

    “’Night. Thanks for…” He gestures between them, suddenly bashful. “You know.”

    “Hey, I took a gamble on you and it worked,” Snafu says. “No need to thank me, cher. Rest easy.”

    “You too.”

    “And, ’Gene?”

   Eugene looks at him. “Yeah?”

   Snafu grins. “First chance we get tomorrow…” He doesn’t have to complete the sentence. Eugene turns red and Snafu laughs.

    So Eugene is really in it, and it’s terrifying. It’s dangerous and bat-shit but this place is hell anyway. He’s got one good thing going, may as well embrace it with both hands. He rolls over onto his right side to see Snafu, whose eyes have already closed comfortably, an arm thrown behind his head. Sledge’s definitely holding on with both hands.

**Author's Note:**

> uuuuh ye so im in the Mood for sledgefu fdkjgdflkj forgive me. good company will be updated on wednesday as usual. thanks babes.  
> warnings: handjobs, blowjobs, kissing, swearing


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